Fathers And Book Talk!
Dahlia
It’s a short walk from my much smaller townhouse to the Vincenti mansion just a few doors down. The sheer size of it would be intimidating if it didn’t have such a family feel to it.
I knock on the door and wait patiently.
The door swings open.
“Do I have the wrong house?” Because the stunning man standing in front of me isn’t Talon Vincenti and he’s certainly not old enough to be Hope’s unreasonable father.
“If those are homemade brownies on that plate, this is the right place.”
The ridiculous statement makes me laugh. “They are.”
“Then come on in. Dinner is almost ready.”
“You’d invite a total stranger in just to eat their brownies?”
“If that stranger is as beautiful as you are, my answer would be yes every single time.”
This guy is a riot. I can’t help but smile along with him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I promised two little girls I’d help them write a book and convince a stubborn man that romance novels are just as valid as any other genre.”
The man tips his head to the side, causing his blond springy curls to bounce around his stunningly expressive face. He must have women falling all over themselves to get his attention. “You can’t leave without letting me have a brownie and your number.”
A giggle bursts out of me. “You can have a brownie.” I made enough of them this afternoon to feed an army.
“But not your number?”
“No.”
“Interesting. What if I told you I was a billionaire? Would you give me your number then?”
The absurdity of this has me laughing even more. “Not even then.”
“What if I can tell you where the two imps you’re looking for live?”
“Still no. But I could have sworn they live here.” I twist around on the stoop to get my bearings. This is the house. I mean, I’ve only been over a few times, but still, it’s hard to mistake a place that looks like this even in a street full of town houses.
“They do. The girls in question are my daughter Hope and my sister Milia.”
“Daughter?!? Hope is your daughter? How is that possible?”
“When a boy falls in love with a girl…”
I shove the brownies into his arms and grab my belly. I’m laughing so hard it hurts. A handsome man just felt the need to explain to me how babies are made.
When I’m finally able to breathe and stand up, he says, “It seems that I’m the stubborn man you need to convince.” His hand slides under the wrapping to nab a brownie. “If these are as good as they look, call me convinced. ”
“Unfairly judging an entire genre isn’t a trivial matter. As a man raising an intelligent and independent girl, you should know how important it is for her to be exposed to literature of all types. Excluding one type of literature because you don’t understand it is wrong on every level.”
The man blinks twice at me. His face is completely inscrutable.
Questioning his parenting skills probably wasn’t the brightest idea, but the thought of that little girl being denied the right to read a book or fall in love is too much not to say something.
“Hope Vincenti, get over here!”
His voice echoes in my head.
What do I do? How do I fix this mess I’ve made? I don’t think brownies are the answer. This might be too much, even for an apology pie.
At a loss for words, I stand there staring at this beautiful man I just inadvertently—sort of inadvertently—insulted.
He, on the other hand, munches on my brownie like he has weird conversations on his doorstep with random strangers every day of the week.
How do I get some of that confidence, or maybe it is patience?
The pitter patter of not-so-little feet announces her imminent arrival.
Hopefully, this doesn’t go wrong, or I’m going to have to move. And I really, really like my house.
“What’s up Dad? Hey, Dahlia. You made it.”
I certainly did.
“Dahlia, this is my dad Massimo Rage Vincenti. Dad, this is my friend Dahlia. She lives down the street.”
I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. She’s a sweet kid.
“Hope, why does our neighbor believe I won’t let you read or write an entire genre?”
“Because you told me I couldn’t date until I’m ninety.”
He turns towards the little—comparatively—girl with one hand holding a platter full of brownies and flowers and the other holding a half-eaten brownie. “Try again. ”
“Because you won’t let me read romance novels.” She puts her fist on her hip and glares at him.
This might become a battle of wills. If I tiptoe away, will they even remember that I was here?
“Hope.”
She flaps her arms. “Fine, you just won’t let me read books with sex in them. Even though I’m old enough to understand what it is and how babies are made. Which is totally unfair.”
“Your father is right.” I bite my lips to avoid having any other words slip out.
“Now you’re on his side.” She turns to me, shocked.
“He’s on your side. Teenager or not. Birds or bees talk or not. No teenager is really ready for all that. Your father is trying to protect you from things that could scar your heart for life. Enjoy the time you have as a kid, because it’s way too short and once it’s gone, you can’t get that back.”
“But you said I should be able to read romance novels.”
“You should be able to, and there are millions of them out there that focus on the most important part of falling in love.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?”
“Your mind. Learning to really love someone starts here.” I tap my temple. “Then it moves to your heart. As a writer, the most impactful part of any love story is not the sex. It’s the falling in love. The realization that you’ve found the other half of your soul. The person you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with.”
“But they’re just characters in a book.”
“Love is a very real thing.”
She turns to her dad. “Is that how you felt about Mom?”
“It is.” He nods.
Hope stands there processing my words, staring at her father but seeing nothing at all. “I want to learn how to write like that.” Her body shifts so that she’s facing me. “Will you teach me how to write like that?”
“I’m not really a teacher. But the best way to learn is by sitting down and writing until the words convey what your heart wants to say.”
She blinks twice. “Cool! I’m going to be a writer. Dad, can I go tell Fire that I’m going to be a writer?”
“Take these to your nonna first.” He holds out the flowers and the tray of brownies.
She doesn’t need to be told twice. Hope runs off, leaving us alone again.
Again, I’m standing at a stranger’s door in awkward silence. Why isn’t there a hole I can jump into and disappear?
“Is there any way I can convince you to reconsider giving me your number? I’ve been trying to explain that to my daughter for months. I’d even considered moving to some isolated island where there were no boys until she turned thirty.”
“No chance at all. But I’d be happy to drop by if she needs a refresher or has any other questions. Sex and love can be confusing when you’re a teenage girl.”
“Girls don’t have a monopoly on confusion.” A small smile tilts up the side of his lips.
“Could have fooled me.” We both know what he said is true.
“What if I find your number on my own and call to ask you out?”
“I’m not interested.”
“In me or in dating at the moment? Because I’ll have you know, I’m a patient and persuasive man.”
Am I interested in him? There hasn’t been a single spark. Not one little inclination that we have a chance of going anywhere. “I’m not interested in either, sorry. Friends are all I’m up for at the moment.”
“Do friends get brownies?” He pops the last bit of the one he stole into his mouth.
“On occasion.”
“Deal. But you better come in and have some dinner first.” He steps back.
It’s going to be a long night.
** *
The food was so good, I might be falling into a coma. Mom is a good cook, but nothing like these people. Cooking is an art form around here. One that I actually understand. They might have to roll me out of here soon, but until they do, I’m just going to sit here and let the food digest in their park that’s pretending to be a backyard.
“You aren’t going to date my father, are you?” Hope plops down in the chair next to me.
Ahhh. So that was what the invitation was all about. “No. I’m not.”
“What if I tell you he’s a wonderful guy and stupid rich?”
The billionaire thing wasn’t a joke, was it? “I already know that he’s a wonderful guy. He loves you very much. And Hope, you need to learn this right now, because if you wait until you’re older, it’s a lesson you’ll learn the hard way. Money doesn’t matter when it comes to love. And if it does, you’re not really in love.”
“But on television—”
“On television, elephants fly, and mice can plot to take over the world. Regardless of what society tells you, if the only reason you ‘love’ a guy is because he’s rich, you don’t love him at all. What is all of this really about?” I search her face for answers she probably doesn’t even understand.
“I’m going to go to college soon, and my dad is going to be all alone.”
Ahh. “He’s hardly alone with all this family around him.”
“It’s not the same. Since I killed my mom—”
“Excuse me! What did you just say?”
“I didn’t shoot my mom or anything. She got cancer and chose to have me instead of getting the treatments that might have saved her.”
The guilt and pressure this poor little girl must feel every day. “What a gift your mother got. ”
“What? My mother died.”
“Too many people die from cancer every day. But your mother got the chance to leave a legacy. A little piece of her will remain in this world because of you. Not everyone gets that chance.”
“Really? Everyone always said mom wanted me more than anything. They would whisper that she had me so that my dad wouldn’t be alone.” Hope leans back heavily in her chair. “Are you sure you can’t fall in love with him?”
“Why me? Why do you want me to fall in love with your father?”
“Because you bake brownies and cookies from scratch. My father loves cookies. Nonna jokes that he could live on them. You put flowers in the windows. And you sing to yourself when you’re in your backyard. My dad needs someone that does all those things.”
Hope makes me sound like a pretty special person. But singing off key and planting stuff that dies every season is closer to reality. “Love doesn’t work that way. We don’t get to pick people based on the skills they possess.” Though, as my mom says, it helps sometimes. “Does your dad ever talk about your mom?”
“All the time.”
“Then maybe he’s not ready yet—” or he might not ever be ready “—to fall in love again.”
“Bisnonna fell in love again. She married Ethan years ago and they’re so happy together.”
“Everyone is different. Love is a strange and mysterious thing.”
“It really is. Maybe it’s a good thing that Dad won’t ever let me date anyone.” She wrinkles her nose.
“I doubt you’ll be saying that when you’re twenty.”
“Dad isn’t the one I need to worry about when it comes to boys.”
“Oh?”
“Do you know how many cousins I have? Because I’ve lost count and they’re just as protective as my dad. ”
Poor girl is going to have a few challenges, but always be surrounded by love. “I get it. My brother is the worst. He warned off every guy in high school to the point I was a pariah.”
“Exactly.” She smiles over at me.
Before we get too far off-topic, I need to have the responsible adult part of this conversation. “You know, if you’re worried about your dad, you should talk to him about it. He seems like a pretty reasonable guy.”
“He is. But sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger. Someone that won’t worry so much about me.”
If only that were true, but now it seems I’ve adopted a little girl to worry about in my heart. And she isn’t even mine. “My door is open anytime.”
“Will you still help me write that book even if you won’t marry my dad?”
“Absolutely.”
“I need to go tell Fire!” She hops up and rushes away.
Kids are peculiar. The ones around here seem pretty happy, though.
“Thank you.”
I turn to find Massimo striding towards me. “You were listening to our conversation the entire time.”
He nods.
“Being a good dad seems like a hard job.”
He sinks down into the wrought-iron chair next to me. “The hardest job in the world.”
“She loves you.”
“Hope is so much like her mother, full of love and kindness. Ivy filled the world with an indescribable joy.”
And that’s why Hope’s dream of finding her father a wife doesn’t have a chance of being fulfilled. He’s still in love with his dead wife.
“Do you have any kids of your own?”
“Nope.”
“You were really good with her.”
“Thanks.” Kids normally terrify me .
“It’s too bad we can’t pick who we love.” He leans back, stretching his legs and bending his arms, which flexes every one of his muscles.
“But we can pick our friends.”
“Call me Max. All my friends do.”
What would I like my friends to call me? “Everyone just calls me Dahlia or Prue.”